Chapter 6

Samara elegantly cut into the steak, her movements smooth. Then, she gently nudged the plate of carefully prepared food over to Vincent and said, "Dig in."

Vincent was speechless. He stared at the steak, unable to form a reaction.

Just a while ago, Samara had forced herself onto him in the car, yet now she was being all thoughtful and considerate. He couldn't get a read on her at all.

He reluctantly picked up his knife and fork. Each bite tasted like cardboard, and his gaze brimmed with aversion over the sudden change.

After a few mouthfuls, he set down his cutlery and said, "I'm full."

Samara paused, her unreadable gaze flitting over him. She noticed his complete indifference toward the meal she had carefully chosen for him. A faint, almost imperceptible trace of disappointment flashed through her heart, but her expression remained calm and unreadable.

She fully believed that his aversion was only temporary. After all, she knew that right now, he had already developed feelings for her. Perhaps he just needed some time to adjust to the situation.

As the silence went on, Vincent found it difficult to discern what Samara was feeling. He simply felt an increasingly choking air emanating from her, as if foretelling an approaching storm.

Finally, a faint smile appeared on Samara's face, but it carried a hint of dominance. "I'll take you home."

During the ride back to the Harper residence, she didn't act inappropriately. It was as if the crazed woman from earlier hadn't been her.

Vincent couldn't help but wonder just how many facades she had.

Once the car stopped outside the Harper residence, he said a quick goodbye and was about to get out of the car when he found himself being yanked backward.

A pair of warm lips pressed against his.

Samara's eyes blazed as she stared straight at him and declared domineeringly, "Don't forget that you're mine!"

Vincent froze in shock. By the time he regained his senses, he'd already broken out in a cold sweat. He scrambled to get away from her, almost as if he were fleeing for his life.

…

After entering the house, Vincent ran into an aggressive-looking Zachary at the top of the stairs. He tried to move aside and let Zachary pass, but Zachary didn't move a muscle. Clearly, he was here to confront Vincent.

"Who dropped you off just now, Vincent?" Zachary demanded.

He'd clearly seen Vincent disembarking from Samara's car just now.

Vincent frowned, not the least bit interested in dealing with Zachary's provocation. He responded curtly, "You saw who it was, didn't you?"

He tried to get past Zachary, but the latter wasn't going to drop this matter so easily. He stepped closer to Vincent, snarling mockingly, "I never knew what a master manipulator you were, Vincent. There you were, claiming you didn't know Samara at all, when you've been seducing her this whole time. I'm rather impressed."

"I can't be bothered to listen to your crap. Now, move!"

Vincent might've been willing to show a bit more tolerance, but that didn't mean he wasn't infuriated to see that someone was deliberately trying to provoke him.

"Why should I move? I'm warning you, Vincent—Samara's mine! Back off if you know what's good for you," Zachary arrogantly threatened him, showing no regard for the fact that they were brothers.

That was the last straw for Vincent. He threw a punch that landed squarely on Zachary's nose. Blood splurted out at once.

Zachary's shock was soon overtaken by rage and discontent. It never occurred to him that Vincent, whom he'd kept under his thumb this whole time, would actually hit him.

Just then, Walt emerged from his study after hearing the commotion.

"Dad! Vincent punched me! I was just kindly giving him a reminder, yet he hit me!" Zachary showed Walt his bleeding nose in the hopes of garnering pity.

But Walt only asked calmly, "What happened?"

In the past, Walt had favored Zachary more for the value he could bring to the family business. Therefore, whenever there was any conflict between the two brothers, he'd always taken Zachary's side.

But things were different now. Samara clearly had a thing for Vincent, which greatly elevated his position in the family. After all, he was soon to become the Copeland family's son-in-law.

And with the Copelands on their side, the Harpers would have an even brighter future ahead of them, too.

Thus, Zachary's tried-and-tested method of blabbing to Walt to get back at Vincent stopped working.

"Why did you irritate Vincent for no reason? He's your older brother. He has every right to teach you a lesson," Walt rebuked Zachary harshly.

The cold, disapproving look in Walt's eyes only made Zachary feel even more aggrieved. He never expected that one day, Vincent would get to step all over him. He certainly couldn't accept that Walt was now siding with Vincent instead.

Catching the furious look on Zachary's face, Walt shook his head. "You've been spoiled rotten by the way your brother has always given in to you."

Vincent's lips twitched. He couldn't be bothered to continue watching this farce.

"I'm tired, Dad. I'm going to bed," he said before heading back to his room, leaving Zachary to seethe away.

Walt didn't reprimand Vincent for walking off just like that. He simply warned Zachary, "Behave yourself. Don't provoke your brother again. He's about to become the Copeland family's son-in-law."

Zachary pinned his gaze on Vincent's retreating back, his eyes blazing with rage as he clenched his jaw.

So what if Vincent was about to become the Copeland family's son-in-law? Did that give him the right to punch other people for no reason?

He now understood why Vincent had grown a spine today. He'd truly latched onto Samara now.

…

Late at night, while the rest of Copeland Manor was blanketed in darkness and silence, a faint light spilled from the study.

Samara sat alone on the couch, her back to the window. Under the dim light, her silhouette appeared even more willowy and enigmatic. Moonlight slipped in through the gap in the curtains, outlining her graceful figure. But her face was hidden in the shadows, her delicate features out of sight.

Her slender hands and fingers seemed to glow under the light, attractive in their own way. She was swirling a wine glass, the crimson liquid sloshing around.

Samara stared at the wine, lost in thought. It was the same shade of red as blood. For a moment, she felt as if she'd gone back to her previous life.

She recalled what she'd seen that day when she rushed to the prison. The cell was empty, save for the dried blood stains on the floor. He was nowhere in sight.

In the end, she'd arrived just a little too late.